


In Need Of Fine Tuning

by LadyKnightOfHollyrose



Series: Fine Tuning [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Classical Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKnightOfHollyrose/pseuds/LadyKnightOfHollyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts -  one,  that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty? AU. Inspired by Nodame Cantabile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?

The first thing he became aware of was the dull but insistent pounding in his head that hinted at an impending hangover; his body’s way of making its hatred for his alcoholic tendencies known was a form of punishment he was now completely used to.

This did not, however, make the experience any less agonizing.

As his brain began to accept that yes, it was going to be one of _those_ days, he managed to drag himself back fully into the waking world; it was only then that he was able to make two rather odd observations.

The dulcet sounds of a flute floated through the air, and it only took a moment to identify the piece as the [flute solo](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0d184YbQp0) from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloé. The transition between notes was smooth and lyrical, as one might expect, but there was something different - something almost exquisite - about the way that it was being played. He felt as though if he only reached out a hand he’d be able to feel the notes slip between his fingers like silk.

He shifted slightly, placing a hand down to brace himself as he attempted to sit upright. Still reeling from the effects of his hangover hitting him like a sledgehammer to the head, he missed his mark slightly, knocking over an – he glanced over his shoulder to see what it was – empty bottle of beer. Which, in turn, knocked down the tower of glass bottles upon which it had rested with a resounding clatter that really did nothing for the state of his sanity.

It was then, with the sound of glass tumbling to the floor contrasting sharply with the fickle flow of notes still being played that Arthur made his second observation.

He seemed to be lying on a sofa. That wasn’t what was odd. He wasn’t in his own flat. This wasn’t ideal, but it also wasn’t what was jumping out at him.  
Arthur could only gape at his surroundings in horror – bottles, bags of rubbish and dirty plates surrounded the sofa like the ocean encircling an island.

How on _Earth_ could anyone live in such a pigsty?

The music came to a halt as the solo drew to a close, and it was then that Arthur spotted the flautist himself. He was peering around a pile of stacked boxes that had previously hidden him from view, flute held aloft in one hand as he stared down quizzically at Arthur.

“So Sleeping Beauty’s finally deigned to wake up, huh?”  
There was something decidedly sharp in that gaze, and Arthur looked down self-consciously. To find himself practically naked. He seemed to have on only a waiter’s apron which covered his front from waist-down, a set of clip on cuffs with a matching collar and bowtie, and blanket that had slid down to his thighs when he had sat up.

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, head snapping around to get his bearings as his cheeks coloured in mortification. His head had been pillowed by a shirt and a pair of trousers, and he swiftly tugged them on with his head still ducked, forgoing the modesty of trying to go to a different room in favour of getting out of there – wherever he was – as fast as he possibly could.

When he looked up again he noticed that the stranger wasn’t looking at him any more anyway; messy silver hair, just shorter than Arthur’s own sat atop his head, red eyes seeming to look straight past Arthur at the wall deep in thought.

“…I _swear_ I know you from somewhere… Who the heck are you, anyway?” The man’s tone was somewhere between curious and frustrated, as though something were just beyond his grasp.

It was then that an idea struck Arthur; if this person didn’t know who he was, then there was no reason to change that. Instead of introducing himself and apologising for being a nuisance (probably) and taking over his sofa as he perhaps should have, Arthur straightened up and muttered a quick “Excuse me!” before fleeing the room.

He stumbled towards the exit as he weaved as quickly through the mess as he could, and just before escaping through the door he thought he heard the mutter of ‘ungrateful bastard’ follow him out. It didn’t matter; if he could just figure out where he was and go back home he could probably forget all about the incident and never see the guy ever agai…

It was at this point that his brain, sluggish as it was, came to a grinding halt. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say it smashed into a wall and completely disintegrated.

The plaque next to the door he had stumbled out of was labelled as ‘ _129: Gilbert Weillschmidt_ ’.

He didn’t need to look to know that the one next to it would say ‘ _127: Arthur Kirkland_ ’.

Well, _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So. Guess who's starting another multi-chap fic when she already has some unfinished ones to be getting along with? ^^' But I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head since initially writing the crossover-sentence in the One Sentence Meme which is how this came about.
> 
> A lot of my ideas seem to be running away from me at the moment... Off Script has turned into a bit of a monster and seems like it's going to get at least two more parts, and I was also attacked by plot bunnies last night after talking an idea over with revolutionjack ^^'
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this teaser! I realise it's a bit unpolished (if you spot anything amiss, let me know!), I just wanted to have it posted while I was at the LRC and had proper internet access ^^' I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of this month to be honest, but at least I should (hopefully) be able to get more revision done for my exams done without the distractions of the internet.  
> ;A;


	2. Track One: In Which Arthur Turns Tail Like A Startled Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?

It had been ten minutes since he had staggered into his flat and sat down on his bed, head in hands. He’d moved only once, to collect a glass of water with which to wash down the paracetamol he’d dug out of his bed side table. During that time, he’d been racking his brain for what exactly had led to the disastrous event earlier that morning – no, he _wasn’t_ being melodramatic; he was just naming the debacle for what it was.

He was fairly certain of how the previous morning had started; the same as any other morning really. He’d got up, dressed, and had breakfast while watching BBC Breakfast. After that was half an hour on his piano before picking up his bag and realising he couldn’t remember where he’d left his keys when he’d got in the night before – under one of the chairs by the dining table that day.

He’d locked up and left for his classes, the same as usual. His theoretical classes had taken place in the morning, after which he’d grabbed a quick lunch from the Student Union shop and settled on a bench to look over the sheet music he’d need to play in his practical session that afternoon.

It had been when he’d arrived at his usual practice room that things had gone downhill. His lessons were held with a woman called Elizaveta Héderváry; she was known for turning out a lot of brilliant musicians and was married to the famous Roderich Edelstien whose recitals were always sold out. He’d played with many orchestras around the world, and many of the Royal Academy’s students strived to emulate his career.

Arthur? He wanted to make a name for _himself_.

“Arthur.”

He’d been playing Liszt’s [Hungarian Rhapsody #12](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exOz0Lzx5NA), not a note out of place when Ms Héderváry had placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She’d drawn her stool closer so that she was next to him and made him turn around. Arthur had felt his stomach sink to his feet.

“I’ve been playing exactly what’s on the score.”

“…Arthur,” she’d sighed, tone sounding full of what he could only identify as remorse. “You’re right, there’s nothing wrong with _what_ you’re playing. It’s _how_ you’re playing it. There’s still no _feeling_ there – no emotion.” She’d looked at him seriously, sadly, and Arthur had just wanted to turn away. “The technique and keying is all exceptional, but at this stage you need to be thinking about style and individuality as well for when you’re performing. I think I’ve done all I can for you; there are other teachers in the department who are better suited to developing this aspect of your work so I’m going to put you in for a transfer of tutor.”

It was at that point that Arthur had stood up, shoving the stool back as he trembled with disappointment and rage. So he was being shrugged off onto another teacher because he hadn’t turned out exactly how she’d wanted? Had all of those extra hours of practicing counted for _nothing_?

He’d reached for the sheet music intending to leave, but his hand had slipped. Pages tumbled to the floor, scattering. Arthur had stooped to collect them still intending to storm out, but Ms Héderváry had also slid down to help him collect the papers. Her hand paused over one sheet, before scooping it up and holding it closer to her face.

“You’ve been composing?”

Arthur hadn’t replied; it was a rhetorical question, after all she could see the answer to that herself couldn’t she? He had kept his head ducked, studying the sheets in his hands instead of facing her. Her voice had still been soft and apologetic, and had made Arthur want to cover his ears. He could take being ridiculed or shouted out, but he absolutely could not take being _pitied_.

He glanced up long enough to see her scanning the page, catching her eye as she opened her mouth and there was something there in her gaze that made him need to leave to room before she spoke.

And so he had.  
He’d taken the score back, noting the surprise in her eyes before striding out of the room.  
He _knew_ he needed the theory before he could compose. He _knew_ the piano course was different to composition, and he also knew that he’d fare much better in his composing if he had a stronger base in his piano playing. He knew that his performance lacked expression; _knew_ that it was what was holding him back.  
He didn’t _need_ to be told by anyone.  
He didn’t want to _hear_ it from anyone.

And so he had traipsed off campus and ended up in a small pub in the middle of the afternoon hoping a drink would cool his temper.

One drink had turned into two, and two into three until he’d stopped counting – stopped caring – and had rather predictably ended up royally plastered. From then on his memories of the evening were rather vague; he remembered a rowdy argument between the Turkish pub owner and a patron who he’d sworn had looked a lot more docile only moments before. He vaguely remembered someone egging him on as he’d shrugged out of his shirt… And the rest of the night may as well have not existed for all that he could recall.

Had his neighbour picked him up at the bar? (This begged the question if he’d been ‘ _picked up_ ’ or if he’d been ejected from the premises for being drunk and disorderly and the kind soul had lent him their sofa for the night. He didn’t really want to consider either possibility.) Perhaps he’d actually made it back to the apartment complex but not as far as his room?

Thinking about it all just made his head hurt. More than it already did

With a final groan, he downed the water remaining in his glass and curled up into a ball, before finally sinking into oblivion.

He’d deal with it all tomorrow, when his body had stopped trying to torture him for his stupidity.

 

x X x

  
Somehow, it had completely slipped Gilbert’s mind that the post office would be shut on a Sunday.

It had sort of become a habit for him to leave his weeks’ worth of errands to a side until Sunday, when he’d be bored and listless and glad for a reason to take him out of the flat. He’d managed to miss a delivery the previous day when he’d been practicing, the sound of the buzzer at the door lost between the notes his flute produced. Oops.

Either way, he couldn’t stay staring mournfully at the building forever. Heaving a heavy sigh, Gilbert shoved the slip of paper back into his pocket after confirming that he would still be able to collect his package on Monday and was on his way. The only thing left to do now was pick up a few groceries to keep him going during the week. Then it’d be back to the music stand to practice some more [Daphnis et Chloé](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0d184YbQp0), because something just didn’t _sound_ right with it.

…Perhaps he could have another look on youtube to see how it was being played by others…

It was with these thoughts that he strolled into his local supermarket, absently grabbing a trolley on the way in and throwing in the usual suspects; bread, milk, cereal, potatoes, sausages…

As he rounded a corner, trying to remember if he had any soup left that he spotted him; Sleeping Beauty from yesterday! The blond was staring at the tea section as though his decision were akin to picking the right wire when diffusing a bomb, thick brows furrowed deep in thought. He’d looked a lot worse for wear when Gilbert had found him slumped outside his flat door half naked and mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Gilbert had managed to haul the man inside, one thin arm thrown over his shoulders to make the task easier, before dumping him on the sofa with a spare pair of clothes and chucking a picnic blanket over him as an afterthought.

And the gratitude he’d received for his trouble?

Well, that would be the last time he listened to his brother about ‘Helping his fellow man’ at least.

Completely forgetting about the soup conundrum, he peered at the man – Gilbert was still sure that he’d seen him somewhere before…

Perhaps feeling the gaze on him, the blond looked up, green eyes growing wide and skin going slightly paler. The corner of Gilbert’s lip twitched. The poor guy looked like a startled rabbit. He didn’t think Gilbert had molested him in his sleep or anything, did he?

They just stared at each other for a few moments, before Gilbert finally broke into a smirk. “I remember! You’re that Kirkland kid!”

He’d barely given himself a mental pat on the back when Kirkland broke out of his daze and grabbed a box from the shelf without looking and stalked away (presumably to the checkout).

“Ah man,” Gilbert cackled to himself as he made for the alcohol isle. “I can’t _wait_ to see his face on Monday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, slightly rushed but since I  had it written I  wanted to upload it before my exams started again ^^' So unless I  can get my contribution to [](http://love-and-tea.livejournal.com/profile) **[love_and_tea](http://love-and-tea.livejournal.com/)** 's monthly fanwork spree finished on time I  should be disappearing for a week or so, so I  can get on with my revision... Wish me luck!  XD  
> I  know there's not an awful lot going on in this part, but hopefully there should be more fun in the next chapter (as you may guess from the ending, or if you've seen/read Nodame Cantabile - though you'll notice that this won't completely be sticking to how things were in NC ^^' )
> 
> I've only done up to Grade 2 flute, and that was quite a while back, so if anyone with better musical knowledge has any corrections or advice, feel free to drop me a line!  XD  I hope you enjoyed reading this~  ^^


	3. Track Two: In Which Arthur Isn't An Arsonist, But Not For A Lack Of Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?

When Gilbert heard the doorbell go off later that evening, he certainly hadn’t expected his visitor to be the Kirkland kid. Eyes flicking to the clock on his laptop where it was perched on the sofa’s arm rest – just gone five – he heaved himself up, nose still burrowed in the bound sheets he’d been reading as he meandered to the door. His free hand found the handle without much trouble, and as the door creaked open he glanced up.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you again quite so soon; what can I do for you Kaninchen?”

He didn’t realise that the way he lounged against the doorframe, one eye still on the music, brow raised and free elbow resting against brass hinges made the other wonder why he’d bothered to turn up at all – a question the blond had asked himself repeatedly before finally knocking on the door that he had been staring at for the past five minutes.

They just stared at each other for a moment – this was becoming a habit with them, wasn’t it? – before Kirkland finally broke the silence to exclaim, “What the hell does that mean?! And I have a name, you know; it’s Arthur.”

Gilbert just grinned sardonically at him, red eyes glinting through reading glasses. “Of course it is, Kaninchen.” Seeing Arthur open his mouth again, he added, “You have an internet connection right? Google translate isn’t the greatest but I don’t think even _they_ can get this one wrong.”

Arthur glared at him, but Gilbert was only amused by it. “Look, I just- What on _Earth_ is that smell?”

Gilbert shrugged. It could be anything, really; he’d been so busy trying to figure out what he was doing wrong that things like basic sanitation and hygiene hadn’t really been a top priority. He’d only added to the mess that had been strewn across the flat since the morning before when Arthur had awoken there.

He soon found himself being shoved out of the way by the slightly shorter blond, left to stare in the doorway as Arthur waded through the mess in disgusted fascination. He stopped next to the coffee table in front of the sofa in the front room, eyeing the bottle tower that he’d knocked over the previous morning in his haste; it had been painstakingly reassembled, and now that he was looking properly Arthur noted that there were actually cans there as well as bottles. “How long has it been since the last time you took recycling out?”

“A few weeks?”

Arthur sighed in despair. “At this rate you’re going to have insects all over the walls; and then if we happen to have our windows open at the same time they’ll be all over my walls too…” Crouching to the floor, he grabbed one of the tied carrier bags near his feet. “What’s in this?”

“Rubbish?”

“Well, throw it away then!”

Gilbert caught the bag as it was tossed to him, looking slightly bemused. Arthur showed little sympathy, however, as he threw several other similar bags in the same direction, catching Gilbert in the stomach with one of the bigger ones. It took a few moments, but Gilbert collected them, and some others he knew needed to be thrown away and marched from the room down to the large communal bin.

By the time he’d made five or so trips of hauling full bin liners and crates of recycling down the stairs, the floor of the room could actually be seen and Arthur was looking through the last of the boxes that had been piled up in odd places. He began to open one, glancing up to address Gilbert. “It’s been weeks since everyone got back after Christmas, why is this still pa-”

“Don’t look dammit!”

Gilbert skidded into the room from where he had been in the hallway but it was too little too late; the damage was done. Arthur had already looked back down, his mouth slightly ajar as it hung open in surprise.

From the reaction, he’d expected to be staring down at a box full of porn or something. Instead, the sight that greeted him was decidedly more… innocent in nature. Indeed, the box was full of stuffed toys of varying animals, though there was more than one panda and Arthur got the distinct picture that Gilbert hoarded cuddly chicks every Easter.

Gilbert marched over, face stuck somewhere between pouting and scowling as he pushed the flaps of the box closed again and picked it up, not looking Arthur in the face. If he squinted, Arthur could make out a slight dusting of pink on those pale cheeks before the other spun on his heel and marched out of the room again. “I can handle the rest of this, you know. Why don’t you fix something to eat instead?”

Arthur rolled his eyes – he was hardly a maid servant. But still, he would admit to being a little peckish himself. Dusting his trousers off as he rose to his feet, he walked over to the kitchen and flicked the light switch. The layout seemed to be pretty much a mirror image of his own, and after a little rummaging in the fridge and a couple of cupboards he settled on a plan to make omelettes and baked beans.

Easier said than done.

He had started out okay; had managed to crack the eggs into a bowl with only the tiniest pieces of shell managing to make it into the mixture that he then added milk to. He may have whisked it a tad too much, but that would only make it fluffier, right? He’d poured half into a lightly greased frying pan which he’d set to heat over the stove, and set about finding a saucepan for the beans.

Soon the beans were bubbling away as the omelette cooked, and Arthur turned to the fridge to retrieve the cheese; you couldn’t have an omelette without cheese, after all.

It was from there that things went horribly awry.

The omelette sizzled, and he could see that a couple of the egg shell pieces weren’t quite as miniscule as he’d thought. No matter, he could pick them out with a fork! _That_ hadn’t gone quite to plan, but it had only left a small tear. Time to flip the omelette.

That… hadn’t gone so well either. Instead of landing flat on the pan it bunched up, pockets of the egg left uncooked and sealed shut as the other parts around it were exposed to heat.

And that was when he remembered the beans.

Swearing colourfully, the blond turned his attention back to the saucepan he had left on full heat at the back of the stove; sauce had crusted onto the metal sides, beans stubbornly stuck to the bottom of the pan, browned in neglect. Trying to scrape it out with a wooden spoon didn’t seem to be doing much to help matters.

Just when he’d thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the smoke alarm had gone off. It was at this point that Gilbert raced out of his bed room, abandoning the last box from the living room in order to reach the commotion.

He took one look at the kitchen, horror _far_ more evident than Arthur’s had been upon initially stepping into the flat a few hours prior, before ordering the blond out of the kitchen with the instructions to shut the lounge door and stop the smoke alarm before it set the whole _building’s_ fire alarms off.

 

x X x

  
“So I’m guessing you don’t work part time as a cleaning fairy, and I _hope_ you didn’t come here just to destroy my kitchen… By the way, what were you trying to make?”

They were now lounging on the sofa with a plate each of bangers and mash, with boiled peas and sweet corn on the side drizzled in onion gravy. Arthur was now the one sulking as he shoved forkfuls of it into his mouth, the plush toys he’d found earlier forgotten in his own shame. It certainly didn’t help his pride that the meal that Gilbert had whipped up in the half hour or so after tasted like it could have been served in an up market pub. “I was making omelettes.” Not that he could really blame the albino for not knowing – the blackened mess left in the frying pan could well have been anything, but that didn’t stop him from feeling bitter about it. “And I thought I’d return the clothing that you’d left out for me yesterday; it’s in a bag by the door. I don’t think I got to thank you for, uh, looking after me.”

They both knew that it was more like Arthur had ran away as fast as he possibly could, but Gilbert just waved off the thanks. Better late than never, after all. “Eh, it’s okay. You get to wash up, by the way.”

Arthur bit back his retorts of ‘I just _singlehandedly_ cleaned your whole flat’ and ‘I didn’t _ask_ you to take care of me or feed me’. Because _Gilbert_ hadn’t asked for Arthur to barge in and take over either, even if he had been living in squalor. And also, Gilbert _must_ have realised by now that he had been the source of all of the fire alarms going off in semester A, but he hadn’t commented on it. Yet.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that the things that Gilbert had used to make their dinner had actually already been cleaned and left on the side to dry; he’d only been left with the utensils they’d used to eat, the plates they’d eaten off of and the frying pan and sauce pan Arthur had been using earlier. Gilbert had stepped out of the front room to take a call, and Arthur could hear his voice rise and fall through the walls.

He hadn’t noticed when the conversation had ended as he focused on scrubbing the pans, but his concentration broke as the sweet tone of a flute pierced the air. It was the same piece Arthur had heard the first time he’d heard Gilbert play, and he felt as though the music permeated his skin, soaked into his very bones and thrummed in his veins.

There was just something very different about the way that Gilbert played… Now that he heard it with a clear mind, he could tell that it was haphazard too. Notes where they shouldn’t be, with others missed out all together; fortissimos and pianos ignored or even switched around, but rather than making it sound like a train wreck, the music just sounded _different_. As though it was just a completely different rendition of the same track.

“Stop!” Wiping his hands on a dish cloth, Arthur stepped back into the living room. “Play the last three bars again, exactly how you did just then.”

Gilbert blinked at him. “How did I play it just then?”

Throwing the cloth back into the kitchen behind him, Arthur peered around Gilbert to study the music on the stand, before tapping one section with his finger. “You’re adding notes in here where they aren’t written, see?”

Gilbert looked at him blankly.

“You don’t have a piano or keyboard here, do you? Come on, I’ll show you what I mean.”

“Huh? The practice rooms’ll all be booked up for tonight by now and I need to feed Gilbird.”

“You need to what?” But Gilbert was already charging past and into his bedroom, leaving the door open behind him for Arthur to peer around. There sat a small canary in a cage that looked akin to the bird’s equivalent of a playground; Gilbert was crouched next to it, pouring seeds into a dish and checking how much water was left in the one next to it.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Weren’t pets banned in the building? “Look, it’s not as though we’re going to be far away; we’ll just be next door.”

Gilbert looked at him incredulously. “You’re going to ninja into the piano student next door’s room?”

Arthur didn’t know whether to laugh, or beat his head into the wall at that. Instead, he settled for a cool reply of, “Why should I ‘ninja into’ my own flat when I have keys?”

“Say what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain! Stop making me write while I have revision to do! ;A; I’m literally just here at the LRC to post this, then I’m going back to the house and turning the laptop off because apparently it’s not just the internet that is damn distracting anymore ^^’ I hope the ending place here didn’t seem too abrupt; it’s where I’d meant to end but it seems like it’s in the middle of the scene when it’s actually the end of one XD
> 
> Anyway, this chapter had a couple of things from my personal experience in there which made it amusing to write; while my room has never got even near as bad as Gilbert’s, I’m messy in my bedroom. I tend to clean up after myself everywhere else but I have a floordrobe and such. Also, when I got back after the Easter holidays, I didn’t unpack until after my exams in May when everyone else was packing up to go home for summer XD
> 
> The other thing was, when we moved into the house in September, the first time I was making omelette I managed to set the smoke alarm off; I have no idea why it went off though as it hadn’t even cooked through and the filling that I’d made had already been prepared and taken off the hob! Oh wells.
> 
> I really can’t wait to get onto chapter four =3= I have loads of ideas for it already.
> 
> Anyway, hope you’ve enjoyed this part! Let me know what you liked about it, or what you think needs improving ^^b


	4. Track Three: In Which Arthur Thinks Things Can't Get Much Worse. And Then Of Course, They Do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur woke in a room that was definitely not his own he was struck by two thoughts - one, that he’d never heard the flute solo from Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe played quite like that before; and two, how on Earth could anyone live in such a pigsty?

The Royal Academy of Music was the most prestigious conservatoire Britain had to offer. As such, the audition process was rigorous, and only the best were given the opportunity to study there.  
  
Arthur had to remind himself of this repeatedly as he stood outside the door to the practice room he was scheduled to enter. It didn’t do much for the feeling of horror that was swelling inside of him.  
  
Not that his  _brilliant_  morning had given him high hopes for how well the rest of the day would turn out.  
  
The beeping of his phone receiving an e-mail had awoken him at the ungodly hour of 4am – he'd reached for it blindly, eyes still shut tight, managing to grab it from his bedside table long enough to silence it before slipping back into sleep. This had caused him to sleep through his three morning alarms, only returning to the waking world to the sound of a car door slamming somewhere in the street below.  
  
Arthur had sat up, eyes wide, before his senses returned long enough to check the time.  _Shit_ ; if he wasn't out of the house and on the way to the tube station in the next twenty minutes he'd have to try and take the next train – one that was decidedly more packed with less chances of there being enough space on there for him to be able to squeeze onto. Which would make him miss his first class.  
He tore into the bathroom and was out again in record time, dressing as fast as he could before a frantic search for his keys; how on Earth had they ended up in the laundry basket? He hadn't time to ponder the matter though, forgoing morning practice and breakfast in favour of rushing out of the flat and barely remembering to lock the door behind him before he sprinted to the station.  
  
By some miracle he'd managed to just catch his usual ride. He sank into a seat with a sigh of relief, pulling his mobile out to read the message that had thrown his entire morning off course. It turned out to be one from Amazon's electronics department detailing various offers that he had absolutely no interest in; he'd browsed the site six months ago to find some headphones. He hadn't even made the purchase having found the ones he'd wanted elsewhere for far cheaper but he still received those damn emails.  
  
Urgh.  
  
Another email had arrived while he had been running to the station, and he had just enough time to scan it before the tube began to slow down at his stop.  
  
It was an email from his university notifying him that he would be expected to attend his practical lesson in another practice room due to a change in tutor; the name was not one that he recognised though he could tell that the practice room was a bigger one than the one he'd previously had his lesson in. Arthur scowled, shoving the phone into his pocket and grabbing his bag as the vehicle neared the platform.  
  
Thankfully, none of the lecturers in his morning seminars had decided to pick on him that morning, but that didn't mean that his luck had turned. He'd picked a seat slap bang in the middle of the lecture theatre as he usually did – it meant the least strain on his neck and the best view of the board, along with the fact that he wasn't so close to the front that he had to help hand out work sheets or too far back where he would have regularly got picked on to answer questions to check he was still awake.  
  
A group of other students filed into the row behind him, chattering as they settled and waited for the lecturer to turn up. Only, the chattering didn't stop when the seminar began.  
  
Arthur had really tried; he'd ignored the incessant noise, choosing to try his best to listen to what was being said at the front of the room. Even as they twittered away and made him miss a sentence he steeled himself. Idiots would litter his life whether he got worked up or not; it was better not to waste his energy on them.  
  
His resolve had stayed firm for the first hour.  
  
By the time the professor had called for a ten minute break to allow students to stretch their legs, Arthur had had quite enough. They were at just gone half way through the second hour with students resettling themselves to listen to the remainder of the seminar when Arthur twisted around to address the group.  
  
"If you can't  _shut_ _the_  fuck  _up_  and _listen_ , then get out so that the rest of us can," he hissed, before turning to face the front again.  
  
They stared at his back in shock; while he wasn't exactly a celebrity, he was known for his technical skill with a piano. He was at every lecture, taking notes; he didn't volunteer himself at all, but he probably paid the most attention out of everybody.  
  
He didn't usually bother talking to anyone else.  
  
Probably cowed by the outburst, he heard not a word from them in the final ninety minutes. It was just as well, he probably would have bludgeoned them all with his folder at the very _least_  if they had started up again.  
  
Apparently even after all of  _that_  he couldn't catch a break.  
The only sandwiches left in the Student Union shop were ones he wouldn't touch with a bargepole, and he didn't fancy anything from the cafeteria… He'd ended up at the Wetherspoons on Baker Street instead; while he certainly couldn't complain about the food's quality – All Day Brunch? _Yes_  please! – it was more money than he had planned to spend, and meant that he'd had to sprint back to campus to make sure that he was back in time for his practical lesson.  
It was as he had stood outside the practice room he was to enter, trying to catch his breath, that he'd peered through the small window in the door. He prayed to any god who would listen (despite the fact that he'd ignored him or her for so many years) that this was all a very, _very_ bad (if elaborate) joke.  
  
Who should be inside but his very own neighbour, Gilbert, flute to his lips poised to play. If that wasn't bad enough he was playing the Super Mario Brothers theme. On his flute. At the Royal Academy of Music. A  _Conservatoire_ .  
  
[While  _beatboxing_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crfrKqFp0Zg&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL) .  
  
What had happened to the performance of Daphnis et Chloé that he had just about managed to whip back into shape the previous evening?  
  
Arthur had spent at least three hours (if not more) with Gilbert correcting the way he'd been playing. There had been a fair amount of frustration on both musicians' parts, with Gilbert barely realising the little tweaks he'd unconsciously been making to pieces and Arthur having to point out each and every mistake to the other and prove that each indeed was a mistake through his mounting exasperation.  
  
And Arthur may have just chalked it up to Gilbert arriving at the practice room early and messing around in the meantime, except for the fact that there was clearly a professor present in the room.  
  
"Oh well done," he was saying as Gilbert practically preened from the praise. "It's certainly sounding better than Mary Had A Little Lamb did when you first attempted that. I suppose you've been practicing?"  
  
Oh dear God, the professor was  _encouraging_  it.  
It was then that the man turned around and caught sight of Arthur through the window. He had a kind smile that reached his eyes but something about him made Arthur think that he could be quite firm if required.  
  
Deciding that no amount of mental preparation would do him any good at this point, Arthur gave a small sigh of resignation before pushing the door open. "Arthur Kirkland," he said curtly in introduction. "I'm supposed to have a lesson here with Professor William?"  
  
"It's Wil _helm_ , actually." Gilbert's interjection was followed by a slow smirk and a mutter of, " _Gott_ , why can the English never pronounce anything  _properly_ ?" He was awarded an unimpressed look from Arthur and a stern one from the tutor.  
  
While Gilbert pouted to himself, the room's other occupant turned to Arthur. "Yes, we've been expecting you. I'm Professor Friedrich Wilhelm, or Frederick William; whichever you are more comfortable with using is fine. I've spoken to Ms Héderváry concerning your technical skill, and from what I've heard you've already done a commendable job in showing Gilbert the merit of disciplined performance; I'm  _most_ impressed."

 

By now Arthur had given up hoping he had the wrong room and had made his way over to the piano and sank into the stool beside it, setting his bag down. "So why are there two of us here?" And why was Gilbert not opposed to this? The paler of the two just stood there looking completely at ease, flute now on a stand as he leant against a wall.  
  
"Well, it would be rather hard to play a duet with only one of you, would it not?"  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"You expect me to be able to play a duet with him and his completely haphazard style?"  
  
"What, can't keep up with me?"  
  
"It's nothing to do with  _keeping up_ ; you just don't play properly so how can you expect to be accompanied?"  
  
"What did yo-"  
  
" _Boys_ ! Gilbert, you do need more discipline in your playing." The interruption brought Arthur back to himself; he couldn't quite believe he'd managed to be pulled into a silly argument so quickly. He felt like he was a child being scolded for trying to steal the last cookie from the jar. The steady gaze that the elder man turned onto him as he ignored Gilbert's outcry of 'Alte Fritz!' did nothing to help matters. "Arthur, this will be learning experience for  _both_  of you; you're aware of the areas you need to make improvements in as well are you not?"  
  
The two students were quiet for a moment, brooding as though they actually were two five year olds being told to apologise to each other and make up after a fight. Professor Wilhelm shook his head in fond exasperation at the two of them. "We'll make another  [Arthur-and-Gilbert pair](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilbert_and_sullivan)  of you yet. And this time the university will be able to take full credit for you both, too."  
  
Gilbert didn't seem to have picked up on the reference, still too busy glaring sulkily at his music stand. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Which piece will we be working on?"  
  
Professor Wilhelm handed them both a booklet each. Arthur scanned the cover, reading the title of " [Introduction and Variations on Trockne Blumen from Die schöne Mullerin, Op.160, D.802](http://hw.libsyn.com/p/2/f/a/2fab9dd894e2748b/schubert_op160.mp3?sid=eb6472e401fed054ef1d0238f4938a19&l_sid=18852&l_eid=&l_mid=2481329) ". It wasn't one he was familiar with, and by the look on Gilbert's face the albino hadn't seen the piece before either. "I think you should perhaps just start with the Introduction, the Theme and the first variation for now. You'll both be learning the piece together under my supervision though I will not be actively helping you with it as I might usually. So take your time with it."  
  
Flicking through the booklet Arthur frowned. He didn't want to take his time with it; the sooner they finished this nonsense the sooner he would presumably be allowed to continue with his one-on-one tutoring. "Alright, let's take five minutes to read through those sections."  
  
Arthur didn't notice Gilbert visibly pale at that, his nose already buried in the booklet as he read the notation. It was Professor Wilhelm's voice that tugged him out again for a moment. "Arthur, those three parts actually take about six and a half to seven minutes to play."  
  
"Fine,  _seven_  minutes then," the blond allowed impatiently.  
  
And it was almost exactly seven minutes later that Arthur had turned back to the piano and started to go through a quick warm up to wake his fingers up. It gave Gilbert a couple more minutes, but when he finally set the music on the stand and picked up his flute he did not look particularly confident.  
  
"This piece starts of slow but does pick up and has some  _very_  interesting passages; there are some very emotional parts, but focus on learning it before you add the expression if that is easier for you. Start when you're ready."  
  
Arthur turned his head slightly, not quite looking at Gilbert (and so completely missing the look on his face) as he spoke. "We'll start off slowly."  
  
Arthur set the pace as he began, Gilbert coming in hesitantly but at the right moment but slipping only a few bars in. They both continued on though; it was their first attempt after all, there were bound to be mistakes.  
  
They managed to keep it together until the pace of the piece briefly picked up, the melody becoming more powerful as it built to a peak. Or that was the effect it was supposed to have; as soon as the tone had changed they seemed to fall out of sync, and Arthur noticed a reappearance of Gilbert's habit of sticking in notes wherever he felt like it.  
  
He peered over his shoulder; perhaps he could take cues from Gilbert's playing if they couldn't work the other way around..?  
  
What he saw made him stop and scowl; he had to restrain the instinct to throw something at the albino who lowered his flute sheepishly when he noticed Arthur had stopped playing.  
  
"Gilbert. What were you looking at? Because the sheet music definitely isn't on the _wall_ ." And that was exactly where Gilbert's eyes had been when Arthur had glanced over; in hindsight he was probably lucky his eyes had been open at all, but considering it was their first time with the piece playing blind wouldn't be conducive to their progress.  
  
"Er..."  
  
"Actually," Professor Wilhelm cut in helpfully, "Gilbert tends to learn and remember most things by ear, so he doesn't really have as much practice with sight reading."  
  
Well that certainly explained why his playing was all over the place. In any case, it seemed that the next forty minutes were going to be very long.  
  
Just  _brilliant_ .  
  


x X x

  
Saturday rolled around fairly quickly despite how agonizingly slow Monday had been. He'd had joint lessons with Gilbert on Wednesday and again on Friday, but progress had been pretty slow. At times, it had felt as though there was no rhyme or reason to the way that Gilbert played, though other times he managed to play sections note perfect even with his extra additions.  
  
Still, Arthur was growing impatient. The piece in its entirety was made up of the Introduction, Theme and then seven variations; six of which they had yet to even look at.  
  
It was this thought that had brought him to his neighbour's front door once again, though this time there was no hesitation before he jabbed the doorbell. It was about ten past four, and it didn't even occur to Arthur that the other may be busy or have plans. He just wanted to at least get this section of the piece sorted so that they could move onto the next.  
  
When Gilbert finally did open the door, he just kind of raised a brow at Arthur but didn't bother moving aside to let the blond in. Mobile held to his ear, his eyes rolled. "Ja, ja, ja. You worry too much. Are you still going to be in the area next month? I know I hardly need to say this, but drop by.  _Ja_ . Okay, bye." He hung up, sliding the phone into a pocket as he surveyed Arthur. "Just couldn't stay away from me, eh, Kaninchen?"  
  
Arthur ignored the leer; he knew by now that Gilbert was actually pretty harmless. "Yeah, whatever. I'm here to practice."  
  
"Well good for you; if you hadn't noticed _I_  don't have a piano."  
  
Arthur tutted. Now he was just being difficult for the sake of it. "Yes, I'm aware of that," he replied, as though speaking to someone especially slow. "That's why we'll practice in my room. I don't particularly fancy trying to move the piano here when you can just grab your flute."  
  
Gilbert's eyes narrowed; he didn't take kindly to being ordered around in his own flat and Arthur's tone just rubbed him the wrong way. " _Actually_ , I've just started making dinner. So no."  
  
"How long will it take?"  
  
"About three hours."  
  
"About thr-  _three hours_ ? Are you planning to feed an army or something? Bloody hell!"  
  
Gilbert just looked at the blond as though he were a completely uncultured Neanderthal. Which he may well have been in matters pertaining to food, but he still didn't appreciate being looked down on.  
  
"I'm making Steak and Guinness Pie. The meat has to be cooked for about two hours."  
  
Arthur pursed his lips. "Well, why don't you just make it at mine? We can practice for the two hours that the meat is cooking for, at least."  
  
Gilbert looked at the other suspiciously. "You're just saying that so that you get to have some."  
  
Arthur shrugged. He couldn't say that the suggestion was altogether devoid of ulterior motives, but they really  _did_  need to practice. And Gilbert knew it.  
  
"Alright, alright fine. You can help bring stuff over though." The albino finally stepped aside and let the door swing shut behind them as Arthur stepped inside. The blond's mouth hung open when he did get inside.  
  
It hadn't even been a week since he'd helped clean the place up and there was already stuff littering the floor; books and pens, a towel, clothes, empty packets of crisps and bottles. Gilbert did at least have the grace to look a little guilty. "I was trying to memorise the Theme and first variation. If you give me another week I should be able to remember it…"  
  
Arthur sighed. It was true, from the looks of it Gilbert had been trying hard; his reading glasses had been left atop the sheet music on the coffee table and it was surrounded by unwashed glasses and mugs. "We don't have another week. Just bring it with you; once we've got the food cooking we'll see what we can do."  
  


x X x

  
"Mein Gott," was Gilbert's reaction as he and Arthur lugged in his cooking supplies, flute and music stand. Arthur's flat was like a sparkling, disinfected mirror image of Gilbert's. As they dumped the ingredients of the pie into Arthur's alcove kitchen, Gilbert let out a low whistle. "Dude, it looks like this place has been professionally cleaned or something!"  
  
Grumbling as he set down his own bags, Arthur muttered, "It  _was_ . Or the kitchen was anyway."  
  
Knowing better than to press the details of that out of him, Gilbert sorted through the groceries and had a quick look through Arthur's cupboards to retrieve the various pots and pans he'd need. Just as Arthur was about to leave, Gilbert caught the back of his collar's shirt and tugged back sharply. "Where do you think  _you're_  going? You can help cut vegetables."  
  
Touched that he would still be entrusted with something culinary after the disaster the day before, Arthur took the offered vegetables without complaint. Gilbert showed him the size he wanted each and made sure that he wouldn't need to be washing them again for a second time to get rid of blood, before turning his attention to other preparations. It meant that Arthur gave them special attention, trying especially hard not to mess them up and taking longer than strictly necessary but seeing as it had kept him occupied while Gilbert cut and boiled the potatoes, emptied the oven (as it was full of baking trays and casserole dishes) and seasoned the meat.  
  
Arthur passed him the vegetables with a look of trepidation, and Gilbert had to restrain himself to keep from laughing. He took the full chopping board with a nod as serious as he could manage before turning back to his casserole dish so that he could fry the meat and make the sauce.  
  
As they let the meat simmer, they entered the front room again where Gilbert assembled his flute and warmed up, Arthur reading through the sheet music as he waited. Once the flautist was done, they turned their full attention to the piece at hand.  
  
As they started playing, Arthur could tell that they were synchronising far better than they had at the beginning of the week, and indeed Gilbert seemed to be adding less of his own random flair into the mix than before… but something didn't sound right. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was going wrong though.  
  
They played the Introduction a few more times before Gilbert stopped halfway through with his brows furrowed. Arthur stopped as well, frowning.  
  
"You're playing that far too loudly. It's supposed to be soft and gentle until here," Arthur said, walking over so that he could tap the appropriate section on Gilbert's score.  
  
"Yeah? Well you need to learn the meaning of  _Adagio_  because you seem to be in some sort of rush," was Gilbert's blunt retort.  
  
"It doesn't help when you make it sound so cheerful." Arthur knew he was just being petulant now, but he didn't want to admit that maybe he was rushing – maybe he was wrong, and maybe it  _would_  be educational for  _both_  of them rather than just Gilbert as Professor Wilhelm had said. It would mean that perhaps Ms Héderváry had been right to wash her hands of him and that he would actually learn something from Professor Wilhelm after all.  
  
His reasons didn't matter to Gilbert. He merely raised a brow at him as though to say he was being absolutely ridiculous. "Yeah, well. At least I can derive some enjoyment from playing. Doesn't look like you do the same."  
  
Gilbert set his flute down and went into the kitchen to put the pie in the oven and mash the potatoes he'd set to boil.  
  
Arthur continued to frown; it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy playing the piano at all… it was just that he'd not felt much motivation recently. Tripping over himself to please teachers had never been his idea of fun, but he felt that a lot of university – and education in general – was just that. And usually teacher's approval was met by high grades and good exam results… This hadn't been the case with Ms Héderváry which had earned his respect, but not being able to deliver was frustrating.  
  
Not that any of that was Gilbert's fault, so he should probably stop taking it out on him. Especially since Gilbert was going to be feeding him.  
  
Right.  
  
Arthur had been pensive a moment, before calling out to Gilbert; "So is it true you can learn things by ear?"  
  
Gilbert's head popped around the arch leading to the tiny kitchen to eye him for a moment before nodding. Arthur nodded back once in response before going into his bedroom and bringing out his laptop.  
  
As Gilbert lowered full plates onto the table, Arthur had managed to find the file he'd been looking for and hit play. "I downloaded this the other day; it should give you an idea of how it's  _supposed_  to sound and I'll try and be more careful about the tempo. And we could give playing it another shot after dinner?"  
  
It took a moment for the tension that had gripped them earlier to fade completely, but it dispersed when Gilbert gave a small grin and said "Yeah sure; next time you act like an ass you don't get any dinner though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adagio – A tempo marking indicating that music should be played slowly.
> 
> [Introduction and Variations on Trockne Blumen from Die schöne Mullerin, Op.160, D.802](http://hw.libsyn.com/p/2/f/a/2fab9dd894e2748b/schubert_op160.mp3?sid=eb6472e401fed054ef1d0238f4938a19&l_sid=18852&l_eid=&l_mid=2481329) is by Schubert
> 
> It's funny; every time I reread the bit about the useless emails my phone would go off. Lo and behold, it would be an email about something I really didn't care about at the time =.= (The IMechE send a lot of emails about events I can't get to orz)
> 
> On pronunciation. It's a bit of a bug bear for me, and possibly others whose mother tongue is not English, is when things are taken from a language and it is standard for the word to be pronounced with extra letters (or incorrect letters) when spoken in English. It's kind of like the way Gilbert plays his flute, now that I think about it XD A few examples for me would be the 'Gujarati' itself, since when you say it in Gujarati it's pronounced 'Gujrati'; there's also 'Diwali', which okay I can understand putting an 'l' in as the letter there doesn't exist in the English language but why a 'w' when it's pronounced with a 'v'? Another is my name XD It's not a huge deal for me anymore, but I figure it'd be something that would bug Gilbert as well XD
> 
> Arthur-and-Gilbert pair (more often known as [Gilbert and Sullivan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilbert_and_sullivan)) refers to Sir Arthur Sullivan ('Gilbert's other half' as said on one website which made me double take immediately XD) and W. S. Gilbert. Apparently Gilbert was actually a news correspondent during the Franco-Prussia war, which I thought was pretty interesting ^^


End file.
